


We'll Do the Alphabet; Start with Q, End with T

by YouRunWithTheWolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Background Relationships, Cute, De-Aged Scott, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Accidents, Pre-slash Scisaac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouRunWithTheWolves/pseuds/YouRunWithTheWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is a very tiny cutie pie. Stiles rolls with it. Isaac is freaked out. Derek is charmed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Do the Alphabet; Start with Q, End with T

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shameless super schmoopy fic. It's self-indulgent and bordering on crack. It was beta'ed by Chi, who reached Tom Hiddleston levels of politeness+cuteness in the process. She's so fucking lovely; here's her [tumblr](http://kitsunepaws.tumblr.com).

 

Isaac looks at Stiles with his patented “we have a problem” expression. Stiles stops in front of him and tries to look around his tall frame to see what’s happening inside Derek’s loft.

 

“How serious?” Stiles asks, because he needs to know the level of panicking he will no doubt reach in a second.

 

“On a scale of one to ten?” Isaac frowns very slightly.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles cringes in anticipation, dragging on the syllable in a useless attempt to brace himself against the inevitable answer.

 

“I’d say a solid _Oh my God what is that and how do we get rid of it_.”

 

*

 

“How did this happen?” Stiles hisses, trying not to wake the sleeping figure on Derek’s couch.

 

“Nobody knows, I found him like this near the treeline. I freaked out, so I brought him here. He wouldn’t stop crying,” Isaac whispers.

 

Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “Didn’t you say it was a _let’s get rid of it_ situation?” he asks, perplexed.

 

“What--do you plan on keeping it?”

 

Stiles opens his mouth but Derek clicks his tongue before he can argue more. “I called Deaton,” he says, frowning. “We’ll bring him to the clinic tonight after closing.”

 

Stiles takes a tentative step toward the couch where a tiny, tiny, _very_ tiny version of Scott is sleeping in a bundle of clothes and covers. He’s naked underneath. He throws a nasty look at Isaac, Hater of All Things Cute. Scott can’t be older than one-- no, maybe two… and a half. Whatever, he’s super small.

 

There is a mop of floppy black hair on top of his head and everything about him is round and soft. He twitches and makes sleepy noises intermittently. His hand’s resting right next to his face in a little fist, thumb pointed toward his gaping mouth, sure sign he’d been suckling on it before falling asleep.

 

“We were wondering if we should tell Melissa,” Isaac says.

 

“Are you serious right now?” Stiles replies, spinning back around to face the two werewolves. They have the same hilarious stance. Arms crossed, legs splayed. “She’s on her honeymoon. I’m not ruining her week for--this.”

 

“You’re just scared your _father_ will kill you for interrupting _his_ honeymoon,” Derek scoffs.

 

Stiles glares at him, his eye twitching uncomfortably. Before leaving for Europe, his dad had taken Stiles aside and said, “I don’t care if Beacon Hills has burned to the ground while I’m gone, please do not make me shorten my trip unless it’s a life or death situation.” Stiles had nodded with mock seriousness, waving his concerns away. “Also, please don’t burn Beacon Hills to the ground?” his dad had added immediately, like he’d given Stiles an idea. Obviously, Stiles would rather have his dad -- and Melissa -- never know about this little problem. They’d probably find a way to blame him.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles finally says, turning up his nose at Derek.

 

Isaac sighs, eyes fixed on the tiny sleeping Scott on the couch.

 

“Oh, man, I’m so glad Allison’s out of town. It would have been awkward for her to take care of her toddler boyfriend, you know? Let’s just -- let’s just wait until Deaton tells us what to do,” Stiles says.

 

Isaac visibly pales. “Toddler boyfriend,” he echoes blankly.

 

“Derek, Isaac’s gonna throw up” Stiles says. Derek just looks mildly confused, but he awkwardly pats Isaac on the back, which is absolutely pointless.

 

“What if he wakes up?” Isaac gazes imploringly at Derek.

 

Derek just stares blankly at him, so Stiles throws his hands up, sighing. “Would you stop looking at it like he’s going to bite your head off? The only thing he’s capable of attacking you with is his drool.”

 

*

 

Scott only wakes up once all afternoon. He looks at his surroundings, his eyes pausing on each of them, before flopping back down on the couch with a contented sigh, and returns back to sleep.

 

When it’s time to go to Deaton’s, Isaac almost flees down the stairs on the pretext he’s going to start the car, and Stiles and Derek end up alone, facing the couch like they’re about to go to war.

 

“You should wake him up,” Derek says.

 

Stiles crouches to Scott’s level and gives him a gentle shake. Scott blearily opens his eyes and groans with his high-pitched baby voice.

 

“Hey buddy, it’s time to get your ass to --”

 

“Language,” Derek chastises behind him.

 

Scott giggles.

 

“He’s not really a baby,” Stiles says, twisting his neck to look up at Derek. He frowns, like he’s going to argue, so Stiles turns back to Tiny Scott quickly and helps him into a sitting position.

 

“I think he is,” Derek says anyway.

 

“Well then, it means he’s too young to get it,” Stiles replies, shrugging.

 

“He understands,” Derek says. He sounds very sure of himself. Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

*

 

“This is a problem,” Deaton comments, unhelpful as ever.

 

Scott is looking at him with a very serious face. He’s sitting still on the examination table, only swinging his tiny little feet back and forth now and then. He’s dressed in a pair of too large baby-sized jeans and a purple t-shirt with Wonder Woman on the front. Boyd was the only one to have younger siblings and the clothes had belonged to his little sister a long time ago before she grew too old to wear them.

 

Isaac is in a corner, hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall. “Can you turn him back?”

 

“It’ll go away in a few days, maybe a week or two. This is a classic but not so powerful de-aging spell,” the vet explains, flashing a light into Scott’s pupils. Scott jerks his face away, blinking rapidly. He pouts, an expression of utter betrayal coloring his features.

 

“Mama,” he says, looking at Deaton pleadingly, his eyes widening. It’s the first thing he’s said since they found him.

 

Stiles feels something like panic rise inside of him. “Oh, no -- he’s gonna cry.”

 

“Mama?” Scott says again, his voice curling into a question at the end, making it very clear he wants to know where she is.

 

Isaac stiffens, nervously wiping a hand on his face and avoids looking directly at Scott like he might be turned into stone if he does. “I can’t be here, it’s weird. I’ll leave him to you guys,” he says before leaving the room.

 

Stiles blinks and stares at the door long after Isaac’s left the room and closed it. Scott whines to get everyone’s attention back to him.

 

“Your mom’s not here right now, but she’ll be back soon, we promise,” Derek says easily, his voice oddly soothing.

 

Stiles takes a step toward his two year old friend. “Hey, you remember who we are though, right? Scotty, my buddy?” he asks hopefully.

 

But it’s Deaton who answers. “Yes, he does remember. He’s Scott. The same Scott you all know. He’s just very young at the moment, so his memories and thoughts might not make a lot of sense to his _also_ very young brain, right now. That must be a lot to take in for him.”

 

“Tiles,” Scott nods once, patting Stiles’s cheek awkwardly. It makes Stiles chuckle in spite of himself.

 

But that’s confirmation enough for him. They had known each other for a long time but had become real bros in 8th grade, after Stiles’s mom had died and Scott’s dad had left. Misery loves company and all that. So if Scott recognizes him in this state, it means he’s still in there somewhere.

 

Derek takes a step forward too, nudging Stiles a bit to the side. He glares daggers at the side of his face but Derek ignores him.

 

“Is he still a werewolf?”

 

Instead of answering, Deaton turns back to Scott on the table. “Scott? Can you wolf out for me?” He keeps his tone gentle and light. Scott cocks his head to the side, confusion written all over his face. “Show me your fangs?” Deaton asks, trying a different approach.

 

Scott’s face lights up with understanding and he babbles a few excited sounding words and shakes his head really fast, like a dog after a bath. He makes a pleased little sound and turns to Deaton with a toothy smile. Some of his teeth are pointier than the others and his eyes flash gold for a second.

 

“I think it might be the extent of his transformation. It’s at puberty that the powers and the beta form develop,” Deaton says, nodding at Derek. Scott yawns, his pointy teeth retracting. He’s starting to grow restless and bored.

 

“I know,” Derek replies, almost petulantly. “I was there when it happened to me.”

 

Deaton ignores the sarcasm and ruffles Scott’s hair. “Well, there’s nothing much I can do. We just have to wait and see. Which one of you will take care of him?”

 

“Well, not Isaac, that’s for sure,” Stiles drawls out, gesturing at the closed front door. “He seems to be _so at ease_ around him.”

 

Derek throws him a flat look, his eyes doing a very miniature version of an eyeroll. Stiles sees it anyway, and smirks.

 

Just to see his reaction, he pokes Scott in the side and his tiny best friend squawks, surprised.

 

“I’ll keep him of course,” he finally adds. “But I gotta warn you, I don’t have any little cousins and I’m an only child, so -- yeah. I might feed him pop-tarts and spaghetti until the end of the week... Just throwing that out there.”

 

*

 

Stiles is relieved to discover Scott is potty-trained, either because his old self is still in there or because he used to be precocious as a child. He just tugs on Stiles’s sleeve and mumbles a few words that get the point across and Stiles waits outside the bathroom while Scott goes about his business with the door wide open. When he’s finished he screams, “Done!” in a very self-satisfied way and Stiles comes in to flush the toilet and hold Scott’s little body high enough for him to reach the sink and wash his hands more or less effectively.

 

Stiles talks to him a lot. He can’t help it. It’s his best bro and he’s not used to taking care of a child so he just talks his way through everything. Scott never answers his questions but sometimes instead answers back when there’s no question. It’s just a few words, pieces of full sentences, but he seems to understand what Stiles wants from him well enough. Everything goes smoothly.

 

*

 

Everything does _not_ go smoothly. Scott makes a mess of the kitchen table at dinner. He looks at him with huge, huge eyes when Stiles gets annoyed and tells him to stop. Stiles breaks and ruffle his hair in apology.

 

After dinner, Scott won’t let Stiles wash his face and hands with a damp cloth so he ends up running around, screaming excitedly, tomato sauce spread everywhere around his mouth and on his hands. He looks like a demon child who just bathed in the remains of a fresh kill.

 

Stiles sits him down in front of Ratatouille. Half way through it, he gets bored and uses the couch as a trampoline. He takes great pleasure in watching Stiles scramble and run after him, ignoring his pleas and sighs. It was a bad idea to let him sleep all afternoon.

 

After a few hours, Stiles, exhausted, finally snaps. He yells at him to just stop already, the same way he would have if Scott had been his normal-sized eighteen year old self and -- it’s a huge mistake. The floodgates open. Scott’s eyes widen comically and tears starts to roll down his chubby cheeks before he starts wailing. Stiles can barely hear himself trying to calm Scott down with soothing words, he screams so loud. After ten minutes, Stiles is also on the verge of tears and doesn’t even want to imagine what it sounds like to his neighbors.

 

He calls Derek.

 

He shows up rather quickly. His appearance is surprising enough for Scott to be reduced to soft little sobs. Stiles’s ears are ringing.

 

“Come here,” Derek says, crouching to his level.

 

Scott launches himself at Derek’s chest without any hesitation, his little body heaving with sobs. Stiles feels betrayed and jealous.

 

“Sure, you just show up and you get all the hugs because I’m the bad guy,” he says bitterly, crossing his arms.

 

“He’s just tired, he doesn’t even remember what you’re mad about.”

 

“Well I’m tired too,” he screeches.

 

Scott makes a pathetic whiny sob and hides his face in Derek’s neck. “Oh, shut up. When you’re back to normal, I will make your life a living hell, Scott. You are such a comedian! Those are crocodile tears!”

 

Derek gets up from his crouch with Tiny Scott cradled in his arms and marches up the stairs. “I’ll give him a bath and then I’ll put him to bed. Which you should have done a while ago.”

 

“I was too busy trying to catch him!” he exclaims tiredly. Then, quietly he adds, “Scott, you traitor.”

 

Derek doesn’t turn around and Stiles catches him whispering little things in Scott’s ear as he reaches the top of the stairs. It makes his stomach do something ridiculous.

 

Derek comes down twenty minutes later, looking unimpressed. “I bought some clothes for him to wear.”

 

Stiles should say thanks but he really doesn’t want to. “Okay.”

 

“I don’t mind helping,” Derek says, looking everywhere but at Stiles. “So call me if you need me.”

 

*

 

The next day is easier, because Stiles manages to distract Scott enough all day to avoid any tantrums.

 

“Freaking Derek and his super-big-brother abilities. We don’t need him, do we? You love me even if I’m useless with kids,” Stiles says absent-mindedly, knowing full well that Scott, sitting next to him on the couch and glued to the TV set, isn’t listening to anything he says. He sometimes tries to repeat what he hears coming from the screen and moves his mouth soundlessly, trying to copy the lip movements. Stiles thinks it’s adorable.

 

Stiles can’t help but touch his face, poking and stroking his silky smooth plump cheeks. His hair is also soft and fluffy, like a baby cat. Scott squirms a little, trying to avoid Stiles’s hand as it probes him. He makes a disgruntled sound when Stiles keeps booping his nose out of pure boredom.

 

“Stop,” Scott whines, swatting his fingers away. “Tiles, no.”

 

Stiles chuckles. “Alright, alright.” He learned his lesson. No testing Scott’s patience, today.

 

Stiles is not chuckling, an hour later after dinner, when he tries to drag Scott upstairs to bed. He’s fearing a repeat of the day before. Scott is pounding his little feet on the couch, screaming just to make Stiles uncomfortable. How did Derek manage to get him to sleep?

 

“Scott, it’s late.”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes!”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes, it is!” Stiles says, louder, a little overwhelmed. Scott stops screaming. Stiles is impressed by his own authority.

 

“No no no no no!” Scott resumes his yelling and grips the couch cushion like he can anchor himself to it, looking directly into Stiles’s eyes. So much for authority.

 

Stiles grabs his little flailing form and flings him across his shoulder. He marches resolutely up to his bedroom in spite of the wailing sounds Scott makes and the pounding of his fists against his back.

 

Stiles lets him flop on his bed and Scott bounces once. He stops screaming and scrambles off the bed to go look and touch everything around the room. Stiles lets him do it. At least he’s not screeching in Stiles’s ears. Small blessings.

 

Stiles manages to dress him in an old t-shirt that’s become way too small for him, while Scott is not paying attention. He’s too busy ruffling through his old comic book collection, staring intensely at the drawings. Derek had forgotten to buy a pair of pajamas, so. In spite of the small size, the t-shirt is still way too big for Scott --it pools around his ankles a bit-- but it’ll be alright for a night. Stiles decides to bypass bathtime. He’s not feeling it. He could call Derek again, but his smugness and self-confidence are too much for Stiles to handle. Admitting defeat now is not an option. Don’t show weakness to your enemies.

 

Stiles isn’t sure whether Derek or Scott is his biggest enemy right now, but he’ll triumph either way.

 

He grabs one comic out of the pile before climbing in his bed and exclaims, with exaggerated wonder, “Oh my God, I can’t believe this.” He thrifts through the pages without reading or looking at the drawings, observing Scott from the corner of his eye.

 

The little one gets up from his mountain of comics, a pout forming on his face at being deprived of Stiles’s wonderful comic. _Perfect_. Stiles just has to reel him in, now. “No, no, you can have all those,” he says with a little sneer, gesturing at all the comics on the floor. “I prefer mine, anyway. It’s _way_ better.” He makes a show of it.

 

Scott runs a little awkwardly in the too large t-shirt and climbs on the bed with difficulty, making little grabby hands at Stiles, complete with whines --just to make really sure Stiles knows he wants this comic book. _This_ one and not another. Stiles rolls his eyes good-naturedly and helps him up, settling him down next to him.

 

“Okay, you get under the covers and we’ll look at the pictures together.”

 

Scott punches himself in the face in his haste to scramble under the comforter. He barely registers it, his eyes never leaving the comic, like a cat on the hunt.

 

Stiles puts an arm around his small frame to keep him flush around his side so they can both look at the book. He describes the characters and what they are doing, talking to himself more than anything, and keeps catching himself when he uses big words or turns of phrase that are too complicated. Scott paws at the pages and likes to list all the colors he recognizes. He doesn’t like blue.

 

He falls asleep with his fists curled around Stiles’s t-shirt.

 

Suck it, Derek.

 

*

 

Stiles wakes up the next day with a heavy weight on his chest. Scott is drooling profusely on his shoulder. Nothing new then. He carefully extracts himself from the bed without waking the little monster and escapes for a well deserved shower.

 

He checks his phone for messages afterwards. Derek is asking if Scott’s still “small” --Stiles snorts-- and if he’s doing better. Stiles has some babysitting skills to show off.

 

 ** _Come over and see for yourself_** , he sends.

 

Derek shows up around breakfast. Scott’s just woken up and is trying to go down the stairs. But eventually, he gives up and slides down the steps on his butt, yawning widely.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he can see Derek smile. He tries not to stare.

 

“You think he’s adorable,” he says, unable to not tease him about it.

 

“Yeah,” Derek shrugs, unashamed.

 

“Oh,” Stiles says softly, eyebrows flirting with his hairline.

 

Scott reaches the bottom of the stairs and rubs his eyes with his tiny little fists. He stays on the floor and lifts his arms up expectantly at Stiles. Stiles’s kneejerk reaction is to pick him up. The moment Scott his snuggled against him, he sighs at himself.

 

“Kids are manipulative bastards,” he mumbles against Scott’s hair.

 

Derek shakes his head at him.

 

“Don’t judge! You just said he was cute as hell.”

 

“You’d spoil your kids if you had any,” Derek says. But he’s smiling and Stiles has never seen him this relaxed. He can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at him.

 

*

 

They spend the day at the park, because Scott “has to exert himself a little so he’ll sleep better at night!” according to Derek.

 

He continues to act like he’s the freaking baby whisperer and Stiles continues to hate and tease him for it. But it’s boring when Derek doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t look bothered or embarrassed by it.

 

Erica joins them, Boyd in tow. She keeps cooing and awing at Scott like he’s a cute kitten. Boyd keeps a silent watch over him when he wanders away from them, easily keeping up with the conversations at the same time. Stiles is impressed by the way he seamlessly compliments Erica’s hair and stops Scott from eating mud. That’s what it must be like to be a big brother.

 

Did Derek use to babysit Cora, or the neighbors’ kids, or even little cousins? What’s his excuse?

 

Derek is lounging in the sun, eyes closed. He looks peaceful. Stiles lies down next to him on a whim, unable to look any longer at the little patch of skin his rucked up shirt revealed. Derek turns his head a bit to the side when he feels him against his side.

 

“Why do I feel like you’d love having Scott remain a kid for the rest of his life? I’ve never seen you this...” Stiles trails off.

 

Derek closes his eyes again. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“I’m not kidding Derek, you’re freaking me out with your serenity.”

 

“I like kids. So what? Get over it,” he snaps, placing his hands behind his head, getting more comfortable.

 

Stiles is a little taken aback with the open admission. Damn, it’s hard to laugh at people who are unapologetic about themselves. Derek sighs pointedly, turning his attention away from him again. It’s clearly the end of that conversation. Stiles lets it go and smiles.

 

“About liking kids, anyone knows why Isaac is so weird around Scott?” Erica asks.

 

“I’m pretty sure he’s weirded out cause he’s attracted to him,” Boyd says simply. “He likes kids alright. It’s just because it’s _Scott._ ”

 

Derek and Stiles straighten up at the same time, staring at Boyd in shock.

 

“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” Stiles breathes out, winded.

 

“Language,” Derek mumbles automatically, pushing him lightly. Stiles loses his balance and sprawls out on the grass. Scott giggles and jumps on his stomach. “What do you mean attracted to him?” Derek goes on, wincing.

 

Erica scoffs. “I’ll draw you a picture when we get home, honey.”

 

Stiles and Derek stare at each other, stunned.

 

*

 

On Monday Derek comes to Stiles’s place uninvited. He stays the whole day.

 

*

 

On Tuesday, Derek brings felt pens and paper and Scott draws a very angry carpet.

 

“It’s a wolf,” he explains to Stiles seriously. Derek nods, as if to say “yes, of course I can see it now.”

 

Stiles doesn’t see it at all. He gives the angry carpet to Derek. “To put on your fridge,” he says.

 

*

 

On Wednesday, Derek takes care of Scott’s bathtime and Stiles takes care of breakfast. Lydia takes a lot of pictures. Cora makes a face everytime Scott gets too close.

 

*

 

On Thursday, Derek, Scott and Stiles go on a walk together. It’s so fucking domestic Stiles is starting to panic.

 

*

 

On Friday, Stiles can feel a tell-tale warmth spreading on his face and neck when Derek laughs at Scott’s shenanigans. There’s a weird pool of weirdness in his stomach. He watches Derek’s eyes crinkle when Scott makes sleepy sounds around naptime.

 

*

 

So, on Saturday, when he comes home from the grocery store to find Derek lying on his back on the couch, with a ball of Scott McCall on his chest, he loses it.

 

Scott is playing with one of Derek’s hands, while Derek runs his other one through his hair soothingly, eyes trained on the cartoons on TV. Stiles dumps the groceries in the kitchen and calls Lydia. She agrees to come and pick Scott up with a minimum amount of bitching--only specifying she needs to get her hair done. “So he’s coming with me to the hair salon. Maybe I’ll even let them cut his hair. He needs it.”

 

Stiles watches the boys zoning out on the couch for a long time, absolutely baffled over the fact that Derek hasn’t even acknowledged his presence. Like -- like he belongs there or something.

 

The doorbell rings and Stiles unfreezes from his spot behind the couch. He extricates Scott’s from Derek’s arms just as Lydia comes in.

 

“But --” Scott starts, looking down mournfully at Derek’s figure. “Derek. ‘Tiles, no.”

 

“It’s okay buddy, I’m leaving you in good hands. Lydia’s here.”

 

Derek looks like he’s being punished. Stiles feels like exploding into a little million pieces. Scott perks up at the mention of Lydia’s name because she spoils him. He wiggles his little butt in Stiles’s arms to be let down. When he touches the floor, he runs to her and she takes his hand.

 

“Let’s go, Scotty McCutie,” she says, leaving them without a glance back.

 

Derek’s eyebrows are doing a thing. He looks sad. “Why --?” he begins, sitting up straight on the couch. Stiles places both of his hands on his shoulders and lowers himself down on Derek’s lap. The rest of Derek’s sentence is swallowed back in his throat and he breathes out a soft, “Uhm,” instead.

 

“I fucking hate you, you know? Why do you have to be such an asshole?” Stiles hisses.

 

Derek’s hands end up on his hips, faltering a little. Stiles can tell he’s not trying to be sexy. He just doesn’t know what to do with them. Goddammit, it’s endearing. “I don’t know what’s happening,” Derek says, still in his whispery voice, eyes wide and lips parted.

 

“You look like anyone coming within two feet of you will die a painful death but someone throws a toddler at you and you’re-- you’re-- ugh!”

 

“I don’t--know what to say?”

 

Stiles scoots closer to Derek’s chest, hands sliding from his shoulders to his neck. Derek inhales sharply. “You’re killing me with your happy face, man,” Stiles breathes out against Derek’s lips.

 

Derek has closed his eyes and angled his face perfectly to receive a kiss. “Uh-huh,” he mumbles before parting his mouth obligingly.

 

Stiles doesn’t need a written invitation. He closes his lips around Derek’s, body tingling all over, and _immensely_ enjoys the sigh Derek responds with. Stiles is busy tracing the seam of Derek’s lips when he registers hands are tugging at his plaid shirt, trying to get it off him. Stiles helps, because duh. He rolls his body down against Derek and they both hum in pleasure, muffling the sound in each other’s mouth.

 

Derek’s kisses are the exact opposite of what Stiles ever expected. They’re soft and not at all demanding, with just a hint of tongue and Stiles is dying because it’s so very slow and sweet. He tries to hold in the whines and whimpers but when one of Derek’s hands travel up his back and the other anchors itself around his nape, he gives up. Derek pulls away from the kiss and stares at him with wide eyes. They’re almost grey today; it’s been cloudy all afternoon.

 

“Wait, what’s going on,” Derek croaks out, dazed, and Stiles smirks because, huh, he did that.

 

“I thought we were making out,” Stiles says, a little breathless.

 

“You don’t like me.”

 

“Are we really doing this now?” Stiles asks disbelievingly. He’s literally sitting on the guy’s crotch. What more do you _want_ , Derek?

 

Stiles rakes his fingers through Derek’s hair and ducks in for another kiss without waiting for the answer. Derek sweeps his hands back down his body and slips them under the waistband of his jeans. Stiles gets a little more frantic, his hands curling into fists around Derek’s t-shirt. He breaks the kiss only to latch onto Derek’s neck, who turns his head obligingly. He’s breathing harder than before, and it sets fireworks off in Stiles’s brain. Derek’s pulse is beating against the flat of his tongue and he adds a little bit of teeth, just to try it. Derek bucks under him, almost sending both of them on the floor.

 

“Hey guys,” Erica calls from the front door, followed closely by Isaac and Boyd. “Where’s the cutie p--”

 

Derek freezes up and Stiles drops his head on his shoulder with a deep sigh. He closes his eyes, willing the rest of the world to fade away.

 

“Oh God,” comes Isaac strangled voice somewhere from Stiles’s left.

 

“You both owe me and Cora twenty bucks,” Boyd says to Isaac and Erica. “We called it.”

 

Derek groans and tries to get Stiles off from his lap. Stiles reluctantly gets up and hopes to God the warmth in his face is not actually showing through unattractive red patches.

 

“Well I guess you don’t actually need any drawing, huh, Derek?” Erica says with a wink. Stiles clears his throat.

 

Derek lets his head roll back on the couch, and stares at the ceiling silently. Stiles hopes he’s willing his boner away because he can still see the --

 

“Scott’s with Lydia, so...,” Stiles says quickly, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s everything. “If you guys are done here...”

 

“Oh, he’s not here? Awesome. Boyd said you went grocery shopping. Derek’s fridge is empty,” Isaac says, already twisting on his heels toward the kitchen.

 

“You were the one to empty it,” Derek grumbles.

 

But Boyd and Isaac are already gone, ruffling through the bags Stiles left on the kitchen floor. Stiles throws his arms up. Apparently they’re here to stay.

 

“I can’t believe this. Can’t you guys take a hint?” he hisses.

 

Derek groans in the background. “Shut up.”

 

“I’m not sorry I walked in on you, it was hot,” Erica says. Derek straight up leaves the room without looking at either of them, head held high, like he’s above it all. Stiles and Erica startle and watch him go in silence.

 

When he’s gone, she goes on like there was no interruption, unperturbed. “But I’m kind of sorry you stopped, though.”

 

Stiles is horrified and he must make a weird face because Erica bursts out laughing and hooks an arm around his shoulders. “I’m just kidding! Thinking about Derek’s dick is really weird--” Derek makes a outraged sound from the kitchen.

 

*

 

“I don’t believe you,” Scott says two days later, once more a very manly and beefy eighteen year old.

 

“You ran around naked, and you ate a lot of paper,” Stiles lies, keeping his face as serious as he can. “You only spoke one word. It was ‘poop’.”

 

Derek ruins it all. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Stiles, I’m going to do something terrible--like throw you out the window. Stop it.”

 

Stiles scowls at him. “You’re no fun.”

 

Scott visibly relaxes. “But you didn’t say anything to Allison, right? She didn’t get to see me like this, right?”

 

“No,” Derek says from where he’s nonchalantly sitting on his couch. He’s flipping through a magazine but Stiles knows he’s just faking it for effect. “You did traumatize Isaac, though.”

 

Scott’s brow furrows. “Isaac? What about Isaac?”

 

“Derek!” Isaac’s scandalized voice calls from upstairs. Derek snickers and Stiles wants to do unspeakable things to him.

 

“Nevermind,” Derek says, shrugging, still pretending to read his stupid magazine.

 

Scott looks at Stiles for help. “Dude, promise me I wasn’t awful. I don’t remember much, it’s horrible.” He looks so earnest and lost that Stiles takes pity on him.

 

“You were fine. Really cute.” Scott makes a face, like he thinks Stiles is still teasing him. “No, no, it’s true. Ask Derek.”

 

Derek grunts and hides his blush behind the flimsy pages of the magazine. Erica snorts next to him on the couch, tearing her eyes away from their newly installed TV.

 

“Derek was your favorite,” she drawls.

 

“Hey, I was his favorite. I’m always his favorite,” Stiles snaps.

 

“Oh yeah, I remember Derek was really warm,” Scott says with a distant sort of voice, his eyes unfocused.

 

Stiles doesn’t understand how Scott manages to say stuff like this without sounding or looking ridiculous. It’s a talent.

 

Derek glances at them quickly to make sure nobody’s laughing at him. He clears his throat, now reading his magazine upside down. “You were alright too, I guess.”

 

Erica rolls her eyes in Stiles’s direction. “Can you believe these two?” she mouths.

 

Isaac stomps down the spiral staircase, looking a little more than pissed.

 

He throws a nasty look at Derek and crosses his arms defensively. “Stiles is sleeping with Derek,” he announces petulantly. The words ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’ do not mean anything to him, apparently.

 

Erica gasps and mutes the TV, eagerly waiting for Scott’s reaction. Derek’s head is, at this point, ridiculously buried in the magazine. There’s no way in hell he can even pretend to be able to read.

 

Stiles does what he does best. He flails a lot, somehow convinced some of his wild hand movements will shield him from any serious conversation. His face is on fire. A series of emotions flash over Scott’s features.

 

“It’s not what you think,” he blurts out.

 

Scott blinks. “I’m not thinking anything right now, to be honest. I need a second to reboot.”

 

Stiles nods sagely, too scared to look at anyone else but his friend.

 

“Does this mean you’re not a virgin anymore?” Scott suddenly asks, shattering literally every expectation Stiles had of what was going to come out of his mouth.

 

“I -- uh, yeah, I mean. No. I mean. I’m not. A virgin. Anymore,” he stammers, glancing at Derek. “That’s one hell of a reboot,” he adds, unable to help himself.

 

“Huh.” Scott scratches his head and everyone, even Isaac, is literally frozen in place, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

 

Scott seems to notice. “Uh, yeah. Well,” he claps Stiles on the back, looking around the room awkwardly. “Congrats on the sex? Um, I think you could do a little better than Derek but-- whatever,” he says quickly, shrugging like he wants to get rid of the words.

 

“Thanks,” Derek says drily. Stiles makes a face at him, because now Derek’s just pushing his luck.

 

Scott claps his hands together nervously. “Okay, that was fun,” he says, inching toward the big sliding door. “Stiles, you coming?”

 

“Yeah, sorry guys, we gotta pick up our parents at the airport,” Stiles says, bursting into movement, glad to be given an out. He’s still a little shaky from the reveal, so he struggles a little to put his shoes back on.

 

He grips Isaac’s shoulder a little too hard for it to be a friendly goodbye before making his way back to the couch. “See you later?” he says looking down at Derek.

 

Derek nods minutely. Erica unmutes the TV, bored again. Scott is grilling Isaac on why he got upset, but Isaac only blushes and shakes his head.

 

Stiles swoops down to steal a kiss from Derek’s lips and lingers ten seconds too long.

 

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> You could come say hi on [tumblr](http://yourunwiththewolves.tumblr.com) if you were so inclined.


End file.
